


He was Four

by hunters_retreat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Has Visions, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-31
Updated: 2009-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-05 16:40:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5382707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunters_retreat/pseuds/hunters_retreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was four the first time he kissed his baby brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He was Four

**Author's Note:**

> One of those stories that you sit back and go.. huh.. where did that come from?

  
He was four when Dean started having visions.  His mother was six months pregnant and stroking her belly slowly, smiling that slow smile she reserved for when he was sleepy or being goofy.  He walked over and put his head on her tummy because she said the baby could hear him already.  “Hi baby.”  He said softly.

The kick that came after bumped his head off his mother’s stomach and his eyes were wide as images flashed in his head.  It wasn’t a room he knew, but in the vision it was familiar.  The man in front of him, tall and lean with long hair and fire in his eyes held his shirt with fists that refused to let go.  His own hands dug into his biceps, his fingers sliding under the fabric of the dark blue tee.  He felt his breath pressed from his body as the tall man leaned closer to him, “Dean” his voice said like a prayer and his own grown up lips answered back “Sammy” before their lips met. 

He was four the first time he kissed his baby brother.

 

 

 

 

When Sam was six months old, Dean carried him down the stairs and across the lawn.  The house shook with the rage of fire and his Dad swept them up in his arms to carry them across the yard to safety.  He kept his arms wrapped around Sammy, keeping him secure.  He wanted to cry.  He didn’t know where his Mommy was and his Dad was shaking, but Sammy was still in his arms, so he didn’t cry.

He kissed Sam’s forehead instead and images flashed in his head.  The street was different and the neighbors were too, but the fire was the same.  He saw himself dragging Sam out of a fire, another woman on the ceiling, Sam trying in vain to get past Dean’s arms but he held him safe as his brother screamed her name over and over again.

He was four when he pulled his brother from the fire the second time.  He cried then, mourning for two women he loved, the two women Sam would love more than any other.

 

 

 

 

When he was twelve, Sam came home angry enough to cry.  Dean didn’t know what it was about, but he followed anyway.  Dad was away on a hunt and at sixteen Dean was responsible for his brother for everything, everything that counted anyway. 

“Sammy, what’s wrong man?”

Sam didn’t answer, but they were sharing a room in a run down apartment so the door was open and Dean went in and sat on the edge of his brother’s bed. 

“Just leave me alone Dean.”

Dean reached forward to pat Sam on the back but his fingers brushed up against the strip of bare skin that was showing under his shirt and he wasn’t in the room anymore, but caught in a vision.

“Sammy…” his voice was more a growl than anything else and Sam was panting under him, head thrown back, and sweat covering him as Dean pumped into him, hips snapping forward to bury his cock completely in his brother’s body.

“Dean… I … I …”

Dean crushed his lips to Sam’s, taking the words before his brother could say them first.  He felt Sam falling apart under him, knew it would just be moments, so he leaned back and shifted the angle slightly as he stared into Sam’s eyes.  “I love you.  God Sammy, I love you so fucking much.”

“Dean!” His brother broke apart at the confession, painting the flesh between them in warm white stripes as Dean came hard inside him.  When he could catch him breath, Sam rolled them over, coloring Dean’s skin in kisses between whispers of “I love you.”

When he came back to the room with Sam, he jerked up off the bed, realizing what it was he’d seen and where he’d come back to.  “Yeah Sammy.”  He said, voice harsh and confused.  “I’ll leave you alone.”

He was sixteen the first time he said those three words to his brother and meant them far more than he was supposed to.  He was sixteen the first time he climbed into a shower and jerked off to images of his brother’s much older, longer muscled frame. 

 

 

 

 

He was eighteen and he knew what was coming.  He’d spent too many years with his brother, memorizing and cataloguing his moods and movements not to know when he was about to explode.  He’d walked out, hoping that his absence from the room would let one of the others drift away.  He sat at the edge of his bed, trying to think about what he could do to keep Sam and their Dad from killing each other, but then he heard the two yelling downstairs. 

He ran into the room just in time to hear their Dad tell Sam to shape up or ship out.  He pushed his way between them, pressing his chest against Sam’s to back him off.  Dad was shouting over his shoulder and Sam’s hand came up to clutch at Dean’s forearm. 

The second his brother’s skin touched his, he jerked hard, his vision taking him away to a small dark room.  He stood in the doorway looking down at Sam, a sob rising in his throat as he watched his brother’s form, unmoving.  He was so still and Dean wanted nothing more than to hold him again, to press kisses to his throat in ways he’d never done in real life.  It felt worse than Sam going to Stanford, worse that losing him to Jess and a normal life.  This was permanent. 

Except it wasn’t.  Dean knew what he had to do, walking out to take care of his brother in the only way he could.

He was eighteen and he had four years to get ready for his brother to leave him for college.  He was eighteen and knew he’d let him go, because it was the hunt that had killed him and Dean would be damned before he’d let his brother die if he could prevent it.

 

 

 

 

He was twenty eight the first time his brother shoved him against the wall, his breath coming in hard, warm pants against his skin.  He didn’t looked at him, couldn’t look him in the eye, but his hands never stopped moving, pressing against Dean’s chest to see if there were any marks from the werewolf they’d been hunting.  He pushed at Dean’s shirt, getting it off his shoulders as his fingers moved over muscled flesh.  Dean shuddered under his brother’s touch and Sam’s breath hitched.  He leaned forward, his head resting on Dean’s shoulder, trapping him there.  He dropped his hands to Dean’s hips, his thumbs rubbing over the bone and pushing under the waistband slightly.

He closed his eyes, trying to think of something to say, anything to do.  When Sam’s fingers worked his button open and slid the zipper down, he moaned, pressing his hips forward involuntarily.  Sam’s hand worked his pants down just enough and he was wrapping his large hand around Dean’s cock. 

He’d always known they were headed to this, known since he was four and he dreamed of Sam’s mouth on his.  He’d always expected more time though, expected to have time to adjust to it because it wasn’t time for their first kiss yet, but Sam wasn’t listening and Dean didn’t have anything in him that could fight this.  He’d been waiting for twenty four years.

He reached out and pulled Sam closer, didn’t waste time as he got Sam free of his pants.  His brother’s flesh was hot and heavy in his hand.  Sam moaned against his neck and then his brother was biting into his skin, licking and lapping and marking Dean.

They worked each other in silence, hard and fast with nothing but their breath and moans punctuating the air.  Sam’s teeth brushed his neck again and Dean shuddered, his entire body responding as he came over his brother’s hand, his brother’s name on his lips. 

Sam’s cock shifted in his hand and Dean kept pumping him until he felt the wet splash of come over his fingers.  Sam’s hips stuttered to a halt and Dean milked him through it until he was moaning from oversensitivity.

Sam’s eyes were wide when he backed away, like he’d never expected to do something like that and Dean knew he probably hadn’t.  This had been impulse, the need to be sure that Dean was alive and unhurt and it had turned to something else, something wild that had been waiting between them, silent and unspoken. 

Sam pulled his pants up, his eyes shifting from his body to Dean, down Dean’s body and then back away.  Dean dropped his pants the rest of the way and reached for his boxers.   Sam practically threw himself into the bathroom at that and Dean just pulled his boxers on.  It was time for bed anyway and he didn’t have the energy to figure this out tonight. 

He fell asleep waiting for Sam to come out but when he woke it was to Sam holding a cup of coffee out for him.  He’d apparently found an all night laundry mat also because Dean’s clothes were folded at the foot of his bed. 

He took the coffee and smiled as he grabbed the shirt on top of the stack.  He threw it on before he realized what it was, then looked over at his brother and grinned.  He recognized the shirt, knew the dark blue tee that hugged Sam’s shoulders and chest,  even though he knew Sam had never worn it in front of him before.  He wasn’t sure what he’d do to set Sam off today but he was sure it was going to be worth it.  When Sam gave Dean a small smile back, his eyes were still clouded but he didn’t let it bother him.   He’d been waiting twenty four years for tonight, for Sam to press him against the wall and kiss him senseless.  He took a sip of his coffee and sighed.  When he looked at Sam, he gave his brother a small wink.  “Nice shirt.”

 


End file.
